


Personal Notes (8) New Year

by longhairshortfuse



Series: Carlos's Secret Diary [8]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos accidentally gets high, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Re-Education
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:51:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairshortfuse/pseuds/longhairshortfuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos is starting to get suspicious of a few things about Night Vale, but hasn't noticed any of the suspicious things that happen to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Notes (8) New Year

Happy New Year

It was New Year's Eve last night. We all took the night off and watched the fireworks display at the derelict harbour and waterfront recreation area. We were all in need of a night off, three of the postgrads and I have been ill. The symptoms are a feeling of unreal detachment, dehydration, unexplained bruising and scalp burns, and none of us can remember what we did last week. Ell commented that it must be one hell of a hangover and why wasn't she invited to the party. 

It was impressive, someone knows how to put on a good show here. Afterwards I came home and put the radio on. Cecil's voice spoke to me. For the last month his show seems to be on whenever I want to hear his voice, I fall asleep with his voice the last sound in my ears, sometimes relaxing and sometimes arousing, although he doesn't talk about me any more. I miss hearing him say my name, I miss the little fizz in my stomach when I hear him say "Carlo-os". I'm sure my voice wavers a little whenever I have cause to say "Cecil" out loud. I worry about him, he described the recreation area in a way that made his opinion crystal clear at least to me. Opinions are not welcomed by the city council. 

There is a new face in town, a man wearing a jacket and carrying a leather suitcase. He has been seen by many residents, including Ell and two of the postgrads, but no one can remember what he looks like other than that he has clothing and baggage. They can't even remember where or when they saw him. Cecil saw him, said that his memory of the man as vivid & clear as day but just can't remember any more about his appearance. He questioned if the man was a dream and asked listeners to call in if they remember anything. He had two callers: Josie and one of her "angels". I wonder if Ell has tried to interview Josie about her angels yet? Probably not, she is afraid of being offered more unsalted cornbread. 

When Cecil described a call he received from someone claiming to be an angel, he said that his face got hot, the voice filled his body, he cried and he described the room as being lit up with a bright black beam. The angel said that the man in the jacket was from underneath the earth, "a flower in the desert." Could he have meant the city under the Desert Flower bowling alley? We should investigate that further. Cecil reported feeling ecstasy and dread, breathless and alone, silence unlike anything he had ever not heard. I suppressed my desire to text, to call, to drive over to make sure he was ok, recovered from whatever the interns must have slipped into his coffee. I imagined myself holding, comforting him but also imagined being met with a blank stare and incomprehension of why I would just turn up like that. I needed a scientific excuse, I'm not ready to risk rejection.

There was some good news, the city council has lifted its ban on pens and pencils so that residents can record details if they encounter the mystery man. This will make our work easier as it is difficult to make notes during fieldwork when writing implements have to be disguised. Cecil gave some good scientific advice: write down everything that you do not comprehend. 

Earlier, Teddy Williams showed me some security camera footage he said was of citizens of the underground city, recorded early on Saturday morning. There was some unclear motion near the soda machine but it was not possible to enhance the grainy pictures enough to see real detail. Cecil reported on it, and on Teddy's warmongering, starting in a reasonable tone and gradually reaching new heights of mocking hyperbole. I bet Teddy didn't even realise that Cecil was making fun of him and his militia. I am getting ever more attuned to that glorious voice and its variations in tone that betray his thoughts. The more I listen, the more I hear, the more I want. This crush is still torture. I am an adult and ought to be able to get over it, but I kind of like the feelings it gives me, it's a diversion, an alternative to looking for a real connection when I'm not ready to trust anyone.

This is a strange place where normal modes of communication don't always work and alternatives must be used. I wondered about the "children's fun fact science corner" section, which was, on the surface, meaningless drivel about birds. Was there a coded message embedded? What did it say, and who was it for? I will check for frequency patterns tomorrow.

During the traffic report there was a story about a woman who wanted to go back in time. I think someone has been looking through my old notes and I need to keep them somewhere more secure.

 

Don't inhale

John Peters, you know, the farmer, reported that an old oak door appeared out in the scrubland. It wasn't there the day before and he heard knocking as though from the other side. John was unsure of which way it opens so he secured on both sides. He intends to keep vigil, claiming that he has such bad nightmares he'd rather be awake all night. He promised to call us straight away if anything odder then usual happened. He didn't want me to send one of the postgrads to split the vigil, said they might trample his imaginary crops by accident. Some people just won't be helped.

I listened to Cecil's radio show, as usual now, on my own. There have been a few speakeasies running good business in town, very useful to us, but the Sheriff's Secret Police are cracking down because wheat is still illegal. I will have to be very careful when I go out for Danish pastries tomorrow. Big Rico's next door has been raided. There was a basement restaurant with a secret menu for real pizza rather than the gluten-free crap they have to serve in the main area. We will miss it. I think, from what Cecil reported, that Rico knows a few things the city council would rather not share with the citizens. So the pizza restaurant is still open although the menu is very limited. I wonder if the sheriff's secret police know about the sourdough starter in my closet? Probably not, I just checked and it is still there. 

It was street cleaning day today. None of us non-locals had experienced this event before, elsewhere normally all it means is park off-road and expect a bit of noise. Like many things, it is different here. Literally anything left on the streets was removed. Living or not. It was terrifying, like so many mundane events with a Night Vale twist. Even the city council ran away on indefinite leave, to Miami. I fantasised about taking Cecil to Miami. Or, better, to my cousin's place in San Diego. The beaches, the bars, has he even seen the ocean? I would love to see his shock at discovering how delightfully cold the water can be, and sharing it with sea lions and pelicans. We secured the lab well. It would be easy to say, "oh, that's stupid," and not bother but something in the way Cecil explained street cleaning day made me go downstairs and insist that we clad the building in heat-reflective polymer, set a thermostat to skin temperature and hide under the benches wearing fire safety suits. 

Cecil tried to explain some proper science on his show today. He explained in detail what clouds are and how they form. Unfortunately the broadcast was jammed by and any recognisable scientific content was obliterated. I hoped he was thinking of me. I was relieved to hear that Cecil was safe in the broadcasting bunker. The more he spoke about street cleaning day, the more concerned I became for his welfare. He spoke again, an old quotation apparently, "regrets just bear us down." Cecil said these words just stuck with him. I thought about my regrets. I regret disappointing my family, although I couldn't have changed that. I regret turning on too early the machine I designed and sending my colleagues... somewhere. I regret allowing past experience to limit my future. I regret being so uncomfortable talking about the way I feel.

The street cleaners came noisily and passed, we emerged from hiding. The street is definitely cleaner. We followed people, Ell, the postgrads and I, to Mission Grove Park. Most of the townsfolk were there although there were a few absences, and the city councillors were accepted back, not entirely without warmth. The atmosphere was one of relief and happy forgiveness. I saw Cecil with his portable microphone. My heart flipped and my stomach dropped but I dared to go up and embrace him, feeling light and dizzy and giggly. Caught in the moment, I don't think he noticed it was me. I have another regret now. At the time I could have made my feelings known and perhaps he would have responded. The moment passed forever and Ell took my arm, led me away. She was wearing a respirator. As we walked away from the park my head gradually cleared. Ell removed the respirator. 

"Did I just..."  
"Yes. Yes you did." She laughed. "Thought I'd interrupt before the fumes affected you too much."  
That explained it, the feeling of contentment, the slight euphoria like everything was going to be okay.  
"Cecil arrived a while before you, I think he's completely stoned, but I'm not sure what on," she added, "although it seems harmless enough, maybe some residue like dry-cleaning fluid. I left Gio with some sample bottles. Hopefully he will be able to get enough air and soil samples to analyse and we can figure out where the fumes came from. Drugging an entire town is right out of order."

I frowned at this. Ell was in danger of going off on one of her campaigns. I suggested that she let this one pass as the townsfolk seemed happy enough. I hope she does. I didn't explain my nagging concern over the welfare of the people who vanished for days at a time only to reappear with a new set of opinions and a crop of superficial injuries.

We are all survivors of whatever this life throws at us. I need no further miracles.


End file.
